


Stuffed Cat In A Trenchcoat

by delicious-irony (deliciousirony)



Series: SPN Writing Prompt Challenge [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stuffed Toys, Supernatural Prompt Challenge September 2016, Witches, supernatural prompt challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicious-irony
Summary: Mary is back, but Cas is gone, and Dean has only got a stuffed cat in a trench coat to tell all about his sorrows and feelings and stuff.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the very first round of the **[Supernatural Prompt Challenge](http://supernaturalpromptchallenge.tumblr.com)**. The theme was 'childhood' and the prompt was 'stuffed animal'.
> 
> Come say hello to me on Tumblr at **delicious-irony.tumblr.com**! I tag all my writing with #delicious-irony writes.
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> _This hasn’t been beta’ed yet, but a very kind soul has agreed to do so, so hopefully I’ll get around to polishing this in the near future._  
> 

  


Mary is back, but Cas is gone. In his mind Dean knows those two occurrences are not related, but a part of him cannot keep wondering, if it were related, if one accounted for the other, if he really couldn’t have both, who would he choose? Who would he keep? He felt guilty for whatever choice he would make, and even more so because he felt he knew which one it would be. Who he would rather have. He shouldn’t have to make such a decision, nobody should, and yet, trading one life for another seems to have been one of the constants of Dean’s life.

It happened on a witch hunt. They had gone together, all three of them. With the angel back at full power and his mom right there next to him, celebrating with a hunt had seemed the obvious thing to do. And it would have been a _great_ evening out, despite his mom’s repeated jabs that she was chaperoning his date (which, in truth, had given him a warm, fuzzy feeling inside for more reason than one). It would have been one of Dean’s best evenings ever, had Castiel not been hit straight center by a spell and disappeared. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll find his way back to you,” the witch had waved off Dean’s dramatic protests and Mary’s creative threats while climbing atop of her broom, “you’ll just have to recognise him and pick him up this time around.” 

Dean was busy trying to figure out what the witch meant and demanding more information, Mary was busy demanding an explanation of her son, and the witch was busy getting away. Everybody was so busy in fact, that nobody noticed that the witch had removed herself from harm’s immediate way and flown off into the night. Woefully unused to motherly interrogation techniques, or, at least long out of practice, Dean felt his evasion techniques to be woefully inadequate in the face of such maternal determination, and found himself telling Mary about the last couple of years, his doubts and his maybe possibly not quite that platonic feelings for Castiel. Mary stared at Dean some more before hugging him and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, before metaphorically throwing up her hands towards heaven.

“First I married an idiot, and then I gave birth to one. It’s got to be the genes. The Winchester men: handsome, but idiots.”

Now, a few days later, Dean and Mary are back in Lawrence, doing the weekly supply run. Edibles, coffee, toilet paper, the usual glamour. No pie, because Mary is going to make one as long as Dean peels the apples, because he’s a big boy now, he is allowed to use a knife now. Mary reminds herself of that, explicitly, every so often. It still throws her, though, from time to time. Dean having grown taller than her helps. Dean admitting to wanting to do sexy men stuff with Cas certainly drove the point home that Dean had hit puberty some twenty years earlier and lived to tell the tale. Which had not stopped Mary from giving Dean _The Talk_ , because she had always been looking forward to seeing her sons squirm, and she had been sure John would fuck it up. Which he had, soundly. 

They are in one of the second-hand stores, Mary still on a mission to build a new wardrobe, naturally heavy on the plaid, and Dean tagging along simply because he can. It reminds him of his short childhood, of when he accompanied his mother on shopping trips then. He distinctly remembers seeing her trying on a bright, flowery pregnancy dress, bright yellows and greens, silky fabric, and his mom with a huge belly and a huge smile. It’s one of his earliest memories. He hasn’t thought of it in a long time. He hadn’t even realised he still had that memory. 

The store stocks not only cloths, but also dishes and household stuff, books, a couple of smaller appliances and toys. Dean ruffles though a box of DVDs, but doesn’t find anything he hasn’t seen yet. On a whim he picks up a copy of _It’s A Wonderful Life_. Bumbling through the rest of the store, he also walks by the toys, and a little black cat with a tie and trench coat, catches his eye. It reminds him so much of Cas that tears spring to his eyes before he can tell himself he’s not going to cry because of a stuffed toy. When Mary calls him, her new shirts already paid for and packed up, Dean takes the DVD and the cat to the register. Despite, or because of himself, he doesn’t even know anymore. 

At home, in his room in the bunker, Dean puts the cat on the shelf above his headboard. He carefully writes “For Cas” on a post-it, attaches it to the DVD and places the DVD in the middle of his desk, where Cas would definitely see it should he drop by. Because Dean still… hopes. 

He stands in front of his desk, staring at the DVD and thinking how ironic it is how much the great epiphany of the film relates to his life at the moment, albeit in a strangely inverted way. And suddenly he feels so alone, with Sam off studying Men of Letters lore in Britain, even though his mother is sitting in the library, catching up on thirty years of history and cat videos on the Internet. They’re taking a break from the research to get Cas back. Mary made him leave the books and sleep a round. But Dean misses Cas so much in this moment, and he can do nothing about it, and nothing to get him back, and he just wishes…-

There is no escaping the churning of his mind, the ever-repeating circle of questions of 'if he had', 'how he should' and 'would Cas even'. He rolls up in his bed, but the loneliness is just as quietly oppressive in fetal position as much as standing up. In the end, and before he can question himself, he grabs the stuffed cat and snuggles up with it. He thinks about being allowed to hold Cas like that and his heart swells with joy in the same measure that his chest constricts with pain at the thought of that maybe never happening. Everything feels too tight and too stretched at the same time, and Dean’s body reacts the only way it can in the face of complete emotional overload: in complete disregard of its owner, it launches itself into wet, wrecking sobs, silent but rocking its entire form like tremors. 

Another childhood memory surfaces, like a submarine from deep below. Another memory of crying himself to sleep not long after the loss of a loved one. He used to tell Baby Sammy everything he was crying about, babbling softly until they both fell asleep. Now Dean tells the stuffed black cat. He tells the cat every single one of his fears and his hopes and why he is crying now. He tells the cat about Cas, and how he misses him, and how it drives him insane that he doesn’t even know where he could start looking. In Purgatory he knew at least that Cas had to be around there somewhere, denying the very real possibility of the Leviathans getting there first. And in all of this, what hits Dean hardest, makes him gasp for air between heavy sobs, is that he had been such a coward that he had never even told Cas that he loved him. Not explicitly. Knowing full well that the angel would not understand what the round-about implications meant to say. What the paraphrasing was paraphrasing. Not really. Not in the ways that mattered. So Dean tells the cat. 

~~~~~~~~~

The next morning finds Dean waking up with his face firmly pressed into a trench coat. A rather warm, rather big, rather solid trench coat. While one part of his brain is making the pragmatic observation that he must have fallen asleep the night before after all, the vast majority of his brain is busy computing the reappearance of his angel, the disappearance of his stuffed cat toy, and the divulgence of a broad array of information he would and should probably rather not have told the angel. For so many reasons. He’s an angel. They’re friends. Dean’s got issues from here to Oz. Cas might not like him that way. Cas might actually be grossed out by human romantic relationships, or at least squicked, with or without sexy times. Cas might…

Cas must have realised that Dean’s woken up and turns around in his arms, facing Dean. Emotions are layered on Cas’ face like glaces on a fine oil painting. For and foremost joy, and hope, but also fear and dread and silent resignation, gaining traction with each second Dean keeps staring at Cas.

“I did not want to move and wake you,” Cas says, timid excuse winning over smiling explanation. He makes to pull away, but aborts the movement at the last second, determination battling with despair. “Please, Dean, I… I need to know. I know you dislike talking about emotions but… Please. Just this once.” Castiel bites his lip, so obviously torn between desiring an answer and dreading it at the same time. He visibly braces himself for a negative answer and Dean feels his heart crack in his chest. Cas looks so desperately hopeful. “Did you mean it? Yesterday, what you told the cat… me?”

Cas might just want this as much as he does. The mere idea that Castiel might want him, love him, too, makes all the cold, stony tightness inside of him explode into a fluttering cloud of butterflies. The thought seems inconceivable, and yet, it’s all there in Cas’ eyes. Now that Dean can see it for what it is, he realises that it’s been there for years, a constant companion, his lighthouse in the storm. 

“Yeah,” Dean croaks, his voice dry from sleep and too much crying and his throat treacherously closing up again with what feels like another wave of tears. “Yeah, I did, every word.”

Dean swears Cas’ eyes are glistening before he launches himself at Dean, burying his face in Dean’s neck. Dean’s hands move automatically to Cas’ back, holding him tight, as tight as he can, nuzzling Cas’ hair. He can feel Cas draw a shaky breath, the movement pressing them together even closer because none of them is willing to losen his hold even a little. 

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a small art blog, delicirony.tumblr.com \- my art tag is #delicirony. If you’d like to have a look, you can also find [my artsy stuff on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicirony).


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